The Abbot's Gibbet

25

Holcroft soon had the Venetians freed, and arranged for them to be escorted to their old room to clean themselves before being taken before the Abbot. When he rejoined Baldwin and Simon, they left with the fretting Lybbe to fetch his brother; Edgar walked at Baldwin’s shoulder as always.

“Your boy, Lybbe – will he be with your stall?”

“I hope so, Sir Baldwin.”

The knight eyed the merchant sympathetically. Lybbe was eager to see his brother released, and as keen to make sure Hankin was all right. Only a short time ago he had thought he would never be freed, and that after a brief trial he would be taken out to the Abbot’s gibbet. Yet now he was safe; his life could begin again.

“Will you stay here, or go back to Bayonne?”

Lybbe didn’t meet the knight’s glance. “I don’t know, sir. After twenty years, it’d be hard to come back for good. Especially knowing what people wanted to do to me. All the folk here wanted to see me swing, and none of them would believe I might be innocent. I don’t know if I could ever be happy here again.”

Baldwin nodded understandingly. “It would be difficult to look someone in the face when you know he had expected to watch your final moment on the end of a rope. All I would suggest is that you don’t make a quick decision. Wait awhile, and rest here. You may be surprised by how understanding people are, and I know the Abbot will want to help you to try to compensate you for the loss of everything you had.”

Lybbe said nothing, and Baldwin let him be. It would indeed be hard for a man to accept the justice and kindness of another who had once already condemned him wrongly.

Simon, seeing Lybbe’s mood, was about to ask the port-reeve to confirm the good will of the Abbot, when he noticed how cheerful the official was. While the watchman at the door went inside to fetch out Elias, Simon nudged him. “Holcroft? I know it’s good that we’ve solved the murders as well as the robberies, but you look as if you’ve lost a penny and found a bar of gold.”

Holcroft nodded. “Soon I will be able to retire as port-reeve, and some other poor bugger can do it. It’ll be such a relief to be plain ‘Master’ Holcroft again, burgess of Tavistock, without all the aggravation of the port’s business.”

“My congratulations,” Simon said, but as he spoke, Elias walked, blinking, into the sunlight. “Welcome, Elias.”

Jordan stood by his brother, who stared from one to the other. It was as if the cook couldn’t come to terms with his sudden change in fortune. He was nervous before the port-reeve, knight and bailiff, as though fearful that a wrong word could lead to him being incarcerated once more.

“Come on, Elias, It’s all sorted out now,” his brother said gruffly.

“You have my apology, and the Abbot’s, for being arrested,” Baldwin said encouragingly. “It was largely for your own protection, in case your neighbors thought you might be the killer, but I know it must have been hard.”

Elias nodded dumbly, but when he spoke his voice was petulant. “So you had me stuck in there even though you knew I was innocent? I reckon I ought to be given money to pay me back for the damage done to my business, let alone to my good name.”

“That’s fine,” Holcroft said. “But while we’re looking at that, we need to see to the garbage outside your shop. Oh, and there’s the matter of knowingly talking to an outlaw, your brother here, without telling the watch or the port-reeve.”

“But he was innocent! The Abbot’s said so!”

“Yes, but you didn’t know that, did you? As far as you were aware, he was still guilty. I think that lot should add up to more than twenty shillings’ worth of amercements.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Oh, I could. But maybe if you were to forget about trying to fleece the Abbot, he’d be prepared to forget your offences,” Holcroft grinned, and the cook subsided, grumbling to himself.

As they entered the fairground, Elias left them, hurrying off to his stall. Holcroft went off to check on the larger transactions. It was down to Baldwin and Simon to accompany the older Lybbe to find his lad.

Their path took them past the glovers’ stalls, and the spicers’, and they were soon taking a shortcut through the butchers’. It was here that suddenly a small figure burst from between two stalls and cannoned into Lybbe. “Hankin? What are you doing here?”

Will Ruby leaned against his awning pole, arms crossed over his chest. “Looks like you’re his master, right enough.”

“Aye, and he should have been looking after my stall,” Lybbe said gruffly, but without real rancor, his relief was so great to see his lad again.

“Your goods are all right. I sent my own apprentice to look after it all. He’s there now, and if he’s lost anything, tell me and I’ll see he pays for it.”

“I’m grateful to you.”

“It’s nothing. If a man comes to a fair to trade, his goods must be protected. And his boy too,” Ruby added, explaining how he had found Hankin. “After the thrashing they got, the watchmen won’t have touched anything near your stall. They wouldn’t dare return.”

The butcher was right. When they checked on Jordan Lybbe’s goods, all were there, bar some items the boy had sold, the money for which he had wrapped up in a square of cloth in his purse.

“It would seem that everyone is happy with the result, then,” Simon said as they left Jordan and Hankin and began to make their way back to the Abbey.

“So far,” Baldwin said. “I will be interested to see what happens to Pietro and young Avice.”

His wish was to be granted sooner than he realized. At the Abbey, they went straight to the Abbot’s room, where they found the Camminos, freshly scrubbed and clothed in clean tunics and hose, sitting with Arthur.

“Sir Baldwin, Antonio has been explaining about his problems. It seems that it was not only the Lybbe brothers who deserve my apologies,” Champeaux said.

“With the murders, and especially with Luke changing into a monk’s habit, I suppose I shouldn’t blame you for suspecting us,” Antonio said. “But we were completely innocent.”

“Why the poor horses, then? And the warning from Bishop Stapledon?”

“It is as we said: we were robbed on our way from London some days ago. The thieves broke into the inn where we were staying and stole our horses, but they didn’t try to steal from the people sleeping there, and our money and valuables were safe – even the horses’ tack, which was kept separate.”

The Abbot broke in, seeing Simon’s dubious expression. “Bailiff, there is another thing. My letter to Walter Stapledon was replied to by his steward, but fortunately he sent it on to the good Bishop. Today I have received a message from the Bishop himself, and in it he says that although he does not know the Camminos well, his good friend John Sandale, Bishop of Winchester, recommended Antonio to him. Sandale has used Antonio before to assist the Exchequer.”

Walter Sandale was the King’s Treasurer, and Simon knew as well as all in the room that if Sandale himself vouched for Antonio, there could be no doubt of his honor. Not where money was concerned, anyway, the bailiff amended. He nodded.

Baldwin was gazing at the Venetian with candid interest. “You must be rich, Antonio, and you are known to the most important people in the country, yet you travelled to Bayonne for the fair, and then came here to Tavistock.”

Antonio smiled at the note of enquiry. “Sir Baldwin, every now and again a merchant finds himself in an embarrassing position. It is easy to make great profits from importing spices – for one shipload can be enough to guarantee a man’s prosperity for life, but the risks are huge. Pirates, other cities which are no friends to Venice, or even a crew which decides to steal the whole cargo and disappear, can all ruin a man. I have been unlucky. The French King has defaulted on a loan I made him, a ship of mine foundered off Crete, and to cap it all, a second was stolen by the mercenaries who have taken over Athens when it put into harbor for water. They demanded a massive toll, and when my captain refused, his ship was wrested from him. My son and I have travelled to many fairs to try to recover a little of our fortune so that we can furnish a new vessel to trade with the Byzantines, and that was why we went to Bayonne, but you know the ill turn our servant served us there.

“We had no idea what Luke had been up to. Our decision to leave was forced on us because of the violence of the mob that demanded our heads. It is always easy to stir a crowd against bankers, for no one understands the risks we run, but I think a part of it might have been Luke stirring people against us even then, so that he could make off with his thefts. When the posse set off after us, I and my son thought it was a section of the populace trying to attack us. It never occurred to us that Luke might have stolen from the Abbot, and when he let the packhorse go, we never had a chance of discovering what was on it.”

“So then you made your way here,” Baldwin said.

“Yes. We have gone all over the realm, to Westminster and Winchester, up to Northampton and Bury, let alone the Gascon possessions. And we have mostly been successful. The good Abbot’s fleece would have been enough to make the whole venture a success. That was why I was unwilling to go, even though my son and servant seemed in such a hurry to depart. I only agreed when the Abbot rejected my offer – and then, of course, I was made aware of Avice Pole’s elopement with us!”

Arthur rumbled, “But you didn’t stop to bring her back, did you?”

“Sir, put yourself in my position. I had just been told that all my plans had collapsed because the Abbot had rejected my offer for his fleece, I had been warned that there was a mob baying for my blood outside the Abbey, just as they had in Bayonne, and now I was presented with a fait accompli in the person of your daughter. My son and servant went to fetch her while I was waiting at the Abbey. Would you have tarried while you thought the mob might appear at any moment? I remonstrated with my son, I threatened Luke, which was why he refused to leave town with us, I told your daughter that she should immediately go home, for what would running away with us do to her honor? But when they all refused to listen, was I supposed to call attention to myself in a town where I believed my life was in danger?”

Arthur appeared to muse a moment. When he spoke again, his manner was off-hand, as if uninterested. “So what additional investment do you need to make the venture to trade for spices a success?”

Simon left to find his wife, and shortly after, Baldwin made his own excuses. The two merchants looked happier to discuss their business without others standing by and listening, and Baldwin was sure that they would appreciate the freedom to negotiate in peace. To his surprise, the Abbot motioned to him, and the knight followed him into his private rooms.

“Sir Baldwin, I hope you can spare me a few minutes?”

“But of course, my lord Abbot. How can I help you?”

Champeaux stood irresolutely for a minute or two, fiddling with the loose thread of a tapestry. When Baldwin looked about him, he was impressed to see how well-appointed the chamber was, with a pair of comfortable chairs, a table, and a fire burning in the grate. Tapestries of hunting scenes hung on all the walls. The Abbot made no move toward a seat, and Baldwin stood surveying him doubtfully, wondering what the cause of the meeting might be.

“Sir Baldwin, I will not ask you what your intention is toward the Lady Jeanne, for I am sure you are honorable. I probably have little right to ask, in any case, yet I feel I have a duty to take an interest in her since her husband was one of my knights, and a baron should protect the widows of his servants.

“But there is more to my concern than you may be aware of. With all this discussion of the trail-bastons, and how Jordan was so badly betrayed and dishonored by Luke, one should not forget the little girl he saved.”

Baldwin felt his eyebrows rise. “What of her?”

“Sir Baldwin, that little girl was the daughter of one of my tenants. I own land up beyond Tiverton, and in other parts of the country. I have a duty to the girl, do I not?”

“Are you saying that the girl was Jeanne?”

“Yes. When I heard of her parents’ murder, I went immediately to her. When Jordan said that the hue was right behind him, I wonder whether it was in truth his pursuit or just the messengers sent to tell me of the killings. Either way, it doesn’t signify, for the result would have been the same, because the men told me that Jordan Lybbe was responsible for the murders, and when I sent to have him taken, he had already flown, which was enough at the time to convince many of his guilt.”

“Was it you who arranged for her to be sent to Gascony?”

The Abbot looked up. “What else could be done? There was nowhere in the Abbey here for a girl. Though I daresay I might have found a place for her in the town, it seemed better to me that she should be among her own family. Her uncle had bought his freedom some time before, and I knew where he lived, so I sent a message to him. He had become quite a wealthy man, and agreed to look after and raise her. She was only a youngster. When a few years ago I heard that Ralph de Liddinstone was to wed her, I was pleased to hear that she would return to Devon, but I must confess to a qualm that she should marry him. Sir Baldwin, Sir Ralph was no gentle husband.”

Baldwin wondered what was the point of this discourse. The Abbot stood meditatively staring out of the window as he continued: “I am sure that he beat his wife regularly, and without good reason. When he drank, he could be abusive even to me, and if he felt his wife had slighted him, I am sure he would be quite brutal to her. It was no happy thought that she had bound herself to him.”

“I am grateful that you feel you can confide this in me, my lord Abbot, but what has it to do with me?” Baldwin asked gently.

“Sir Baldwin, if you have any hopes of wooing Lady Jeanne, I would want you to know that she has not enjoyed an easy life. Her childhood was ruined by Luke and his men, her youth was spent in a strange land, and her marriage was not successful.” His eyes met Baldwin’s as he continued quietly, “She deserves better, Sir Baldwin. You are a kindly, gentle knight, a man of integrity. If you could win her, I would thank God for at last giving her someone who would love her and treat her as she truly deserves.”

“I would be honored to win her affection,” Baldwin said hesitantly. “But I hardly know what her feelings might be.”

The Abbot peered through his window. “Perhaps you should try to find out, then. The orchard looks a pleasant place to walk in peace, does it not?”

Following the direction of the Abbot’s glance, Baldwin saw Jeanne’s figure. “I think it looks a splendid place, my lord Abbot.”

In the bright sunlight the orchard seemed to glow with health. Underfoot the grass was thick and springy, there was a constant chuckling from the river to his left, while in the trees doves from the Abbey’s cote murmured and cooed. The apple trees themselves appeared so laden with fruit that Baldwin was vaguely surprised the thinner branches could support the weight.

Ahead he saw her, and he stopped and watched her for a while.

Surely, he thought, she deserved a more gentle life now. He was not rich, but he was comfortable, and he could give her a degree of security while he lived. And she had shown him that she was receptive, once they had both overcome their embarrassment at being watched closely by all around. Almost without realizing, he found he was walking toward her, and when he was a mere few yards from her, she turned sharply, hearing his steps.

“Lady, my apologies if I alarmed you.”

“No, no, Sir Baldwin. I simply wasn’t expecting anyone,” she said.

“May I walk with you?”

“Of course.”

“You were deep in thought.”

She glanced at him. “Even widows can think, Sir Baldwin.”

“Of course. I didn’t mean to infer…”

“I know. I’m sorry, I’m just rather on edge today.”

They were silent a while as they meandered among the trees, but soon their aimless wandering brought them to the great stews where the Abbey’s fish were kept. Here they followed its banks.

The sunlight reflected from the water onto her face, and her features became dappled with the golden light as they walked, always changing as they passed from reeds to places where lilies floated. All had their own effect on her face, and to Baldwin she was almost painfully beautiful.

“My lady, I…”

“Sir Baldwin…”

Both paused, then their expressions lightened, and after a few moments’ polite invitations on either side to continue, Baldwin yielded to Jeanne’s repeated pleas.

It was not easy. He avoided her gaze, staring at the river in search of inspiration. “My lady, I have enjoyed your company over the last few days, the more so since you appear not to have been averse to mine.”

“Have I been so forward?”

“No, Jeanne, not at all!” he declared hotly, then grimaced as he saw her face. “And now you make me look a fool. Perhaps I am wrong, and should not…”

“Sir Baldwin,” she said, and touched his arm lightly. “Forgive me. I am sometimes too frivolous. Please, carry on.”

He gave her a doubtful look, then took a deep breath. “Jeanne, I have only a small estate, but it is good and provides well. My lands extend from Cadbury down to Crediton, with farms and mills spread all over. My house is a large place, with good rooms, and is warm in winter and cool in summer. My lady, I think the whole is empty. The land is to me a desert, the mills are broken, and the house a ruin, because when I look at you, I see what is missing. There!” He sighed heavily. “I have said it, and can say no more. Do you look on me as an utter idiot, or could I hope that you feel even remotely the same?”

Jeanne stood and stared away from him toward the trees at the opposite bank. “Baldwin, you do me a great honor. No,” as he began to interrupt, “let me finish. You do me as great an honor as any man could do a lady, and the fact that I know you to be an honest and decent knight means much to me. I feel more… privileged that you should offer me this than I would if an earl did.”

“But you must refuse me,” he said.

“For now, yes. Baldwin, don’t look at me like that. I am a widow, with a life just ended. Oh, I know the Abbot would like me to be wed again, not because he begrudges me the manor or the living, but because he is fearful for my safety, a poor woman on her own up at Liddinstone.” She gave a little laugh. “But I can manage Liddinstone as well as my husband ever did.”

“So why do you refuse me?”

“I do not refuse you, Sir Baldwin, but consider: how long have you been alone? All your life, and now, over the space of a couple of days you have decided that I am a suitable wife for you. That is most generous, and I feel the honor of it, but I am new to being alone, and in truth, I am enjoying it. Why should I immediately seal a new contract? At the least I think I deserve time to consider your proposal.”

He gazed at the ground testily. This was a new situation for him; he was unsure how to continue. An outright rejection he could have coped with; a straightforward acceptance would have been preferable – although he candidly admitted to himself that it would have been almost as daunting – but this nebulous “maybe” was confusing.

“So, lady, if you do not refuse me, but do not say ‘yes,’ what must I do to persuade you to agree to my offer?”

“Sir Baldwin, you asked me whether I should like to see Furnshill. Perhaps you could invite me to visit you with the bailiff and his wife when they next stay with you. And then – who knows? Perhaps I will say yes.”

It was with a light heart that David Holcroft walked into the room over the gatehouse to the Abbey. His duties as a port-reeve were almost at an end, his wife’s moodiness was explained at last, the murders had been solved, and the weather was excellent. Life felt good.

His clerk was there already, and Holcroft seated himself in the chair with his small sack jingling merrily, bellowing, “Come on, then!” Soon the men were sidling in. He had already seen to the mounted ones, they had all been paid at the stables where they were resting before making their way home. Now there were only the watchmen on foot.

He dropped the leather bag on the table-top, and as the clerk read out the amounts, he carefully counted out the pennies and slid them across the table. A man would walk up on hearing his name, and David would have the coins ready as soon as the hand was held out. It took no time at all, but today there was a long and pregnant pause.

It was when the men from Denbury appeared.

Holcroft sat back and stared, dumbfounded. There was not one who did not have a bad bruise, a broken nose, or a bandage round his head. All stood in glowering discomfort as the other watchmen tried to restrain their amusement. Holcroft was not so reserved. He sat back on his seat, his hands behind his head as he took in the immensely pleasing sight. The chagrin on the face of Long Jack was emphasized by the large black eye that had almost closed it, giving the man the appearance of a furious one-eyed owl. “We want our money.”

“Not made as much as usual? I didn’t think you’d need these few miserable pennies,” Holcroft said happily.

The watchman snarled incoherently, and Holcroft felt his smile broaden. All of a sudden his day was looking better and better.

“Where’s our money, then?”

Holcroft came upright and slowly counted out each coin, but before he slid them over, he gave the men a speculative look. “Tell me, before I give you this lot – when did this happen to you?”

“On St. Rumon’s Day. The crowd went mad, beating us with our own belts and such.”

“You deserved it, I daresay,” Holcroft said dismissively.

“That’s not fair! We did our job for you, kept things quiet, all orderly, like you wanted.”

“But you are all in a mess.” Holcroft looked Long Jack up and down, then nodded at the clerk. “They’re each amerced two pennies per day since the attack. We can’t have watchmen in our town looking like this.”

“You can’t do that!” Long Jack growled.

“Can’t I? You can demand justice from the Abbot, if you want, but if you do, I’ll bring out three men who’ll swear that you have all been forcing honest traders to pay you for not damaging their businesses. You want that?” Long Jack eyed him with something of the expression of a horse watching a frenzied terrier – there was contempt for so small a creature, but also nervousness in the face of such suicidal recklessness.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Take your money and be grateful. And next year, don’t return: you won’t be wanted. I will inform the Abbot that you have all been getting into fights this fair. He won’t want you back.”

He dealt with the rest of the men with the smile never leaving his lips. Afterward, he took a quart of ale with the clerk, before bidding him a cheery farewell and setting off for his home. All was well with his world. The pressure of the fair was waning, and he could feel the load of his work lightening, and there was a new child to look forward to. It was a contented Holcroft who stepped out through the wicketgate into the street.

Simon sat on his horse with his leg crooked over the beast’s withers as he read the paper.

“What is it, Simon?” the Abbot asked.

Simon passed him the paper. “Only another farmer complaining that a tinner has infringed his lands and refused to pay compensation after letting his sheep run free. He claims three have been eaten by wolves.”

“Is it true, do you think?”

“No! I’ve no doubt that when I get there to find out the details, there’ll be several lamb pelts hanging up to dry as evidence, but this is just one of the normal complaints one receives every month. The moors are constant only in the amount of paperwork and litigation they produce.”

“I defer to your greater knowledge,” said Champeaux thankfully. It was good to know that his bailiff understood the land so well. He would be able to save the Abbot much work with his position of Warden.

It was two days since the death of Luke and the resolution of the murders, and Simon and his wife were preparing to leave for Lydford. Their packhorse was loaded, Margaret was waiting to mount – she knew she would be sore from the saddle over the miles to their home and had no wish to begin the pain earlier than was necessary. Hugh scowled from his pony, Edgar sat at ease on his palfrey, and the only one missing was Baldwin. Simon glanced round the court as he waited. “Where is he?”

The Abbot said, “I saw him walking with Jeanne a short time ago. He will be here soon.”

“Don’t fret, Simon,” Margaret said. “There’s plenty of time.”

“But what is he talking to her about, eh? What could be so urgent when he’s had all the time here to talk to her?” he grumbled.

At the gate he suddenly caught sight of a pair of figures, a man and a woman. The bailiff swung his leg down and found the stirrup. “Is that him?”

“No, it’s Avice and Pietro,” the Abbot said. “They look happy, don’t they?”

Margaret nodded. “It is good to see two youngsters so wrapped up in themselves.”

“It’s better to see their fathers so easy in each other’s company,” Simon said, pointing with his chin to the two men trailing along behind the couple, heads close together.

“Yes,” Champeaux said. “It is less a marriage of two families, more one of two businesses.” But beneath his light words, he was secretly delighted to see that the girl and her swain were so happy. After the elopement he had thought that their chances of persuading Arthur to allow them to wed were reduced to nothing, yet the two merchants had discovered ventures which could offer advantages to both, and the prospect of marrying her daughter to an old Venetian family had finally swayed even Arthur’s ambitious wife. Antonio’s uncle was an Italian noble, and he was reassuringly bereft of children, so there was the likelihood that on his death the title would fall to Antonio.

Hearing steps, Champeaux saw Baldwin and Jeanne approaching. The Abbot’s eyes slitted keenly. He wanted to see the widow happy, and he wasn’t sure she was. She looked a little stiff to him, and Baldwin appeared reserved, as if uncomfortable. The Abbot felt his spirits fall a little. “Have you had a pleasant walk, Sir Baldwin?”

“Yes, very pleasant. And now, I think I recognize Simon’s expression. He is eager to be off, as usual. My lord Abbot, my thanks again. It has been a very enjoyable break for me.”

“My thanks go to you, Sir Baldwin. You and Simon have saved Jordan Lybbe from the rope, and if you never achieve anything else in your life, that act will ever be to your credit. And I personally owe to you the fact that my port has enjoyed a successful fair, and not one which has been overshadowed by either unsolved murders or unjust hangings.”

Baldwin showed his teeth in a grin. “In which case we are both well pleased with each other’s company, Abbot. And now, seeing Margaret is mounted, we should be off.”

Simon bowed in his saddle to the Abbot and Jeanne. “Abbot; my lady.”

Margaret watched as Baldwin bade them farewell and rode through the great gate and set off up the road toward the Abbot’s gibbet and Lydford. Jeanne, she saw, kept her eyes downcast as Baldwin spoke, but stared after him as he made his way up the road. Then, as Margaret passed, Jeanne glanced up, and Margaret saw a curious, measuring expression in her eyes. It was only there for a fleeting moment, and then Jeanne was smiling again.

The bailiff’s wife urged her pony up the hill after her husband and the knight.

The town was quieter now, most of the traders having left as soon as St. Rumon’s fair was over, and the streets were getting back to normal. Margaret saw Elias outside his shop haggling with Will Ruby over a basket of meat, Jordan and Hankin watching on. Elias’ elder brother wore a broad grin which froze on his face when he caught sight of the knight. Jordan seemed to have to remind himself he was free now and no more thought of as a felon. He gave a curt nod, which Margaret saw Baldwin return absentmindedly.

Margaret was eaten up with curiosity. Baldwin had told her and her husband nothing of his talks with Jeanne, yet Margaret was sure that she and the knight had reached an understanding. They had spent a great deal of time alone together since Luke’s capture, strolling in the fair or walking in the Abbot’s orchard and private gardens, but both Baldwin and Jeanne had been silent on the subject of their talks.

“I will miss Jeanne,” Margaret said after a few minutes.

Baldwin cocked an eyebrow at her. “Oh?”

She pursed her lips with frustration. “Yes, Baldwin. I will miss her, and I would like to see her again soon. Especially since I would like to know whether you and she intend to meet again. Some might think you were enjoying keeping us in suspense.”

“Oh, I hardly think so,” Baldwin said, urging his horse on once more.

“Baldwin, tell me!”

“There is little to tell,” he said, but then he cast a glance at Simon before giving Margaret a quick grin. “But if you truly feel you will miss her, perhaps you should arrange to see her again – and soon. Oh, and it’s surely time you came to visit me at Furnshill – maybe you could bring her with you? Jeanne said she would like to see the place.”

They carried on past the last of the houses. The road began to climb, and near the top of the hill Margaret saw Baldwin frown and stiffen. Following his gaze she saw the dismal clearing where the gibbet stood. Here there was a steady breeze, and the leaves rustled on the trees as the little cavalcade approached.

To Margaret’s surprise, Baldwin stopped his horse and pointed at it. “When we first came to this town, I was almost jealous of that gallows. It is so much newer and more solid than the scaffold at Crediton, and I thought it was a symbol of the Abbot’s power and wealth. Now I don’t know.”

“It’s only a gibbet,” Margaret protested.

“Yes, and as such it is a potent reminder of justice. But if we had not understood the meaning of the clues at the last minute, if Hugo had not been here, or if we had simply been lazy, the wrong man might have been hanged. Then it would have ceased to be a mark of justice and would have become the representation of evil. I loathe the sight of it.”

Simon gazed at the simple wooden frame. “I don’t understand you. There must be thousands of identical ones all over the kingdom. Do you mean you hate this one because Lybbe was nearly hanged here by mistake?”

“Mistake? It would not have been a mistake but a simple travesty of justice. If Lybbe had died here, it would have been because Luke had perjured himself. Fearing retribution from neither God nor any man, Luke swore that Lybbe had been a trail-baston purely for his own revenge. Luke would have made a mockery of justice to see an old enemy hang, and that act would have polluted the whole town.”

“But God let you see the truth, Baldwin,” Margaret pointed out gently.

“God? Perhaps,” he muttered, his attention still fixed on the gibbet. After a few moments he spurred his horse and they passed by the wooden frame. As he rode, Margaret’s words rang in his ears. They carried a serene confidence, proof of her religious faith.

But Baldwin could recall the faces of friends who were dead, Knights Templar like himself, men who had died during torture, or been hanged or burned alive. They had been betrayed by politicians who coveted their wealth. The loyal knights had all been unjustly slaughtered, and God had not helped them, even though they were dedicated to His glory.

Suddenly he felt sick. All those good men were gone now, yet Lybbe had not been hanged: why should he live when the Templars had suffered so much? Baldwin did not have the comfort of belief. He could never again trust in God’s justice. As he passed the gallows, he made himself a vow: he would not rest if he thought that his own efforts could save an innocent man.

The gibbet squeaked in the wind. It almost sounded like laughter, and Baldwin shuddered. No matter what his intentions, the Abbot’s gibbet seemed to be reminding him that long after he was buried, it would still be there, ending other lives, whether justly or not. Its very permanence mocked him, and made his resolution futile.

But it did not change his decision.